The Magnificent Five in 'Return to The Pickerel'

Generally when we arrive to set up at at The Pickerel there are some lads in the bar who have been refreshing themselves heartily since knocking off at two o'clock and who find nothing at all more amusing than a band soundchecking the mics with a number of variations on "one-two, one-two". There are any number of retorts to this, if you're in the mood, however its wisest not to respond - partially because they've been drinking since two, but more pressingly because I'm more than likely going to have to answer to them on monday morning at work, and if you thought they looked a bit threatening in their casual attire you want to check 'em out in overalls and hard hats. Sadly, tonight we are late setting up and so we are denied the pleasure. Still, there is at least one gentleman looking astonished at my appearance in the pub armed with an electric guitar. This'd better be a good one or I'm going to have hell getting the next batch of P565-669 through QC.....
Tonight we will be faced with one of the most frightening of things for a pub band - the unplanned encore. Of course everyone knows the way it goes for pub gigs - we do a couple of sets, we announce the last number, everyone cheers, we do another couple and everyone goes home happy that form has been observed. It would be a brave group who denied this ancient ritual, but the extension of opening hours has thrown the game wide open. The old "We're only allowed one more - licensing laws and everything" excuse just doesn't cut it when everyone knows there's a good hour of drinking time left, and especially when the landlady, possibly in a fit of pique that we've negotiated an extra twenty quid for this year's gigs, or possibly because she genuinely likes the band, is leading the cheering. Gratifying as it is to be wanted, we've really rather blown our cookies when it comes to holding stuff back for such an event and so we decide to play a slow one, hoping that this will both bring the audience down to acceptable levels where they can be safely discharged on to the streets of Stowmarket and that (frankly) they won't want another one. Not that we're not grateful, you understand, but some of us have got homes to go to. This plan goes sadly awry with a rapturous reception for Radiohead's "Street Spirit" and so we have to go back to the well anew. We decide to dispense with our self-imposed rule about material and delve into The Beatles' ouevre. One thrashingly satisfying "I Want To Hold Your Hand" and we're no better off when it comes to being allowed to pack up. Even Status Quo's "Caroline" doesn't throw them off, despite The Other Guitarist's self-confessed not-knowingness of it (and coincidental averred hatred of all things twelve-bar) and The Bass Player's (post gig) confession that he feels slightly soiled. We are finally let go by doing some Kinks (more rapturous hooting, rampant frugging and applause) and turning all the amps off immediately afterwards. You can push it too far, you know.
We are approached by three separate parties afterwards who want to book us for private do's. It's a measure either of our choice of material, our target audience or the new longevity that a love of live music has that all three are for fiftieth birthday parties....